


any tool is a weapon if you hold it right

by healingmirth



Category: Live Free or Die Hard
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-27
Updated: 2009-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:55:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/healingmirth/pseuds/healingmirth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John maybe doesn't know his own strength, but Matt does</p>
            </blockquote>





	any tool is a weapon if you hold it right

**Author's Note:**

> Because my friends insist on giving me practical things like clothing and coffee for my birthday, I set out to write a birthday porn snippet and then totally stalled short of said porn. *shrugs* This is inspired by the fic search a couple days ago for John accidentally hurting Matt during sex - I don't claim that it satisfies what she was looking for, but I couldn't get the plot bunny to go away. Title with apologies to Ani DiFranco, but that also wouldn't go away

It's nothing, Matt says, the bruises on Matt's hips or shoulders or around his wrists that John knows must have been from his hands, but that he can't remember causing.

"Dude," Matt protests, when John points them out, "it's no big deal," but John's heard way too many battered wives and girlfriends over the years to be sanguine about "but he loves me" as an excuse for bruises. Matt fusses with the sheet for a minute in order to present his shin for inspection, and there are at least three nasty greenish bruises clearly visible on his pale skin. "I have no idea where any of those came from, but they're no big deal, and I can guarantee that you did not do it. I just run into shit all the time." He rolls back towards John and holds up his left forearm, where there are four clear finger-shaped marks. "These? I remember exactly where I got, and it was fuckin' _amazing_, man."

Matt's more athletic in bed than John would have expected. He's been with some pretty buff women, women who John is quite sure would take a punch in a fight better than Matt would, but fucking Matt is nothing like fucking them. Matt, he's not a big guy, but he's still a _guy_, and has managed to hold on to muscle tone that he claims he developed schlepping boxes as an IT lackey in college. He's not a lie-there-and-take-it sort of guy, even though there's no universe where Matt could realistically pin John. They do their fair share of mock-fighting between the sheets, but it's mostly trash-talk, and John's always cautious, as he thinks Matt is, about crossing the line into real violence.

John's pretty sure he never hurt Holly. It's a point of pride with him that he uses his strength as a _tool_, not a weapon, in his normal life. So he's not happy about whatever double standard he has in his head that is tangled up between men and women and one-night stands and whatever _this_ is, where he can bruise Matt on a regular basis and not even notice.

John thinks he's being more careful, but even so he's caught completely off guard one night when Matt's litany of, "Oh, God, John, harder," changes to "Ow! Jesus, fuck, ow!" Even without the yelling, there's a sudden tension in Matt's body to alert John that something is wrong, and he's panicked as he freezes, afraid to move until he knows he's not going to make whatever it is worse. Matt twists to the side so one leg lands on the bed and flops back on the mattress as he slowly pushes John away to disengage their bodies. John sits back on his heels, a little dazed and trying to clear his head enough to think as he rests a hand on Matt's foot.

"Matt?" he questions, as his lover continues to lie there, panting interspersed with the occasional wince of pain.

"'M fine. Fine," Matt says, but he grimaces as he shifts again, and John's thumb brushes across his ankle, offering comfort until Matt is more forthcoming. "What's a little torn muscle in the pursuit of mind-blowing sex?" he adds, and John's heart seizes up because... "No, Jesus, no, not that," Matt hurries on. "God. I just strained my leg or something. I don't know. Hamstring? One of those things."

That's still not _good_ but it's enough that John stops trying to figure out what he's going to say to everyone when he's inevitably outed to Emergency Services.

"I'm fine. I mean, it fucking hurts, but I'm fine," Matt says as he tentatively eases his leg straight before stopping again with a hiss. "Look, man, seriously. If I need to work out or go do fucking yoga or whatever so that you believe me when I say I can take it - that I _want_ to take it, I will. I like it. I like that you think... That you _know_ you can let go with me."

They sit quietly for a minute as John gently massages Matt's leg, watching his face for signs of pain to clue him in on how much it hurts, but after a minute it looks like the tightness around his closed eyes is anticipation of pain and not reaction. "You know what I heard is good for muscle strain?" Matt says, and John makes a questioning noise in response. "Blow jobs."

"Is that so?" John asks, both amused and reassured, even if he's not ready to laugh it off yet.

Matt opens his eyes, wide and faux-sincere. "Yup. Read it on the internet, so it must be true." Matt stretches his other leg out, sliding it along John's hip until he can use it to nudge John closer. "And prompt treatment is the most important thing. Preventative treatment, even, like aspirin for heart attacks. Lots of blow jobs."

John doesn't think he's going to be fucking anything anytime soon with that cry of pain echoing in his ears, even if Matt is as fine as he claims, but this he can do for sure. He gives in to the subtle pressure of Matt's heel on his ass and shifts to brace himself over Matt on the bed. "You just make yourself comfortable then, and I'll see what I can do about that," John says, and he's rewarded with both a smile and a twitch from Matt's dick where it's laying against his stomach.


End file.
